


dispassion

by Des_Darling



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complete, F/M, another Black Moon victory AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23291857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Des_Darling/pseuds/Des_Darling
Summary: With the Black Moon Clan's conquest imminent, Usagi makes Prince Demando an offer that he cannot refuse.
Relationships: Prince Demand/Tsukino Usagi, Prince Demande & Tsukino Usagi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 74





	dispassion

"You came."

Relief wells in her voice, and he supposes that it's the first time that she's ever wanted to see him. And though the burning anticipation makes him want nothing more than to turn around and look at her, he wills a preternatural calm to steel him; even when he hears the soft click as she pulls the door closed behind herself, the White Prince remains in his place, leaning against the balustrade of the rooftop terrace and gazing into the cloudless night that swallows a city once lit up in stars.

"Didn't you ask me to?" He asks without turning around and struggles to smother the smile that spreads on his lips when his candor leaves her speechless. Closing his eyes, he conjures a mental picture of her standing beneath the vine-choked pergola and watching his every move as intently as he has hers.

"I did...but I didn't think...I...," she hesitates, "You're winning."

The words break from her lips in a strangled mess of emotion—devastation, resentment, disbelief—an answer to a second question that he didn't even need to ask. For weeks, darkness has blotted out the sunlight and the streets have stood silent; it seems redundant to say what has become so painfully true.

"I am." A gust of wind ruffles his hair and sends his cape swirling behind him in a rich storm of ivory and imperial purple. Shadow ripples over the empty streets below, and his chest swells with pride at the sight of his conquest. "But I don't believe that you invited me here to congratulate me on my impending victory, princess. Even you are not that kind."

Her anger radiates off of her with a heat that is almost palpable, and he revels in her passion, knowing that for the moment everything she feels is for him alone. But in an act that echoes more of the queen that she will become and not the girl that she is now, she reins her fury into a cold detachment, and the White Prince is almost disappointed until she speaks again: "I want to make you an offer."

Finally, he turns to look at her and desire burns in the furnace of his heart and deep within the pit of his stomach. She's in civilian clothing—a sign of peace—and standing under the pergola, just as he had imagined. A blouse that blushes a faint rose disappears into the high waist of her skirt, which is the color of sunshine and stirs around her thighs. Demando stares for seconds longer than he should, feeling that he is seeing her for the first time. With wispy strands of leaves and flowers dangling from the wooden beams over her head and swaying in the breeze around her, he truly struggles to pretend that her beauty has not left him stunned and breathless; that it does not take every bit of strength to tear his eyes away from her and sink into playful malevolence that she expects from him.

Lounging against the balustrade with his ankles crossed, he cants his head and amusement glints in his eyes. "And what could you offer me that I haven't already or can't take for myself?"

Disgust flashes on her face momentarily, but he soon realizes that it is not directed at him but rather towards herself. And though they both know what she is about to surrender, she refuses to speak the words, and the White Prince prides himself a gentleman by not forcing them out of her—yet—as she entreats, "My friends, my parents, my brother, my...boyfriend," her features screw with frustration—the word seems to understate what he means to her. "You have to spare them."

"I don't _have_ to do anything." He laughs. "This world and everything in it will be mine in a matter of days, and I am no longer beholden to anyone's desires but my own."

Unspoken, the memory of the White Prince slaying his advisor before the creature could lay a hand on his brother hangs in the air between them; but it isn't the act itself, rather the moments afterwards when their soldiers dispersed, when she called out to him just before he melted into the shadows that they are both acutely aware of.

In days, the Earth will fall, but he will always remember _that_ as the moment when he secured his victory.

"I know, but _please._ I'll give you what you want, I'll..." she squeezes her eyes shut in silent prayer before forcing the words out like they are poison on her tongue and takes a step forward as if offering herself as a sacrifice: "I'll go with you."

He takes a certain delight in watching her open her eyes expectantly and then her imminent relief shatter when he says, "No. That's no longer enough."

"What?" She staggers back a step like his words burn her, clutching her balled fist against her chest, jaw slack with disbelief.

"If I wanted you to come with me, to stand by my side and hate me for the rest of your days, you would be on my warship now. We would not be _bargaining_ ," he tosses the word out with a levity that makes her hiss a breath, "right now, princess. You are not a fool, so stop pretending that you do not know."

Now, he is the one who advances, closing the gap between them in a few strides. She backs into one of the posts of the pergola, vines spilling over her shoulders and nearly being crushed as the space between their bodies all but disappears.

"From the beginning, I have been clear about what I want."

Even in the dark, he can see the heat that flares in her cheeks, though she refuses to meet his gaze and ducks her head. "No...I haven't—I've never—"

" _Oh,_ " he pretends that the realization of what her words insinuate has just dawned on him. His brows raise and his lips part slightly, revealing the slight points of his canines as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He runs his fingers down the length of her arm until they reach her hand and tangle with her own. His laugh is dark and rich as the night around them, and with a reassuring squeeze of her hand, he teases: "Already in such a rush to get into my bed, princess? When we have so much time still ahead?"

His free hand finds the underside of her chin and tilts her head back so that she looks him directly in the eye, blue clashing with violet. "I want the only thing that I cannot take from you. _I want your heart_."

She holds his gaze, and he still recoils internally when she says the next words, though he's been expecting them to rear their ugly heads eventually

"I don't love you."

No, that's not what surprises him at all; instead, it's her disappointment, her desperation. Envy festers in his heart at the realization that she is so devoted to them...that she would wish that she could force her heart into loving the White Prince if it meant saving them.

"In due time." He smiles wryly. "For now, I would settle for your devotion."

Hope lights up in her eyes and she rises on the balls of her feet, searching his eyes desperately for any hints of deception. "And you'll let them go?"

"You have my word."

She sinks back onto her heels and her shoulders slump forward ever so slightly as the tension in them ebbs. Seeing her at peace, _happy_ because of something that he has done for her if just for a moment, stirs a warmth within his heart that feels so foreign, that makes him momentarily second guess everything. Then he remembers a different heat that burns the passing feeling away—that of desire igniting within him when she fell into his thrall what now feels like so long ago.

He sees it in her eyes; she remembers it too—what had accompanied her forced pledge of loyalty. What he expects of her now. 

The White Prince lets her guide him down to her until their noses are barely touching, their breaths mingling. Trembling, her hands find the hard line of his jaw and she slides one palm up to cup his cheek, eyes wide with uncertainty. He can't help himself; his hand flies up and closes over her own, holding it against his skin. He closes his eyes, and then she presses her lips to his in a kiss so terribly chaste and hesitant that they instantly snap open.

Before she can pull away, his hand falls to her waist and pulls her tight against him. With a growl rumbling low in his chest, he sweeps his cape around her and dips her back, kissing her with a hunger that flows endlessly from him, aching with years of yearning from afar. Unlike the last time, she does not fight him and instead surrenders to his kiss, gives herself over to him as promised, slipping an arm around his neck and tangling her fingers in the white locks that fall to his shoulders. Wandering down the curve of her hip, his hand slips beneath her skirt and grips her thigh; heat pools in his stomach at the feeling of the gentle give of her flesh beneath his fingertips, and only then does she finally slide a hand between them, pushing against his chest and fighting his all-consuming passion.

When he pulls away and sets her upright, her cheeks are flushed and her breaths trickle past her lips in soft gasps. For a moment, he sees a glimpse of the near future in her lust-clouded eyes, and it reminds him that he _has_ won...even if she does not realize it yet. So he smiles at her still, even when her will regains its strength and smoothes her features beneath a pall of dispassion.

"Will you let me see him one last time?" She finally asks once she calms her breath and retreats to the railing, just out of his reach once again. Her eyes are tinged with regret and distant, her back to him. Jealousy and rejection twist like a knife in his stomach, and his smile warps into a grimace; he clenches his teeth to cage in the words, the taunts that threaten to spill from his lips. 

So it surprises even him when he concedes with a low 'yes', but when he comes up beside her and she does not draw away from him, though her eyes still remain fixed on some distant point, he revels in his victory and gloats: 

"After all, I have forever to make you mine."


End file.
